


Peculiar Familiarity

by amiraculousladybug



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Chat Noir is oblivious af, Chat and Marinette play video games together, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gift Fic, Late Night Conversations, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Slow Burn, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 18:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8633461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amiraculousladybug/pseuds/amiraculousladybug
Summary: Chat Noir is on his way home after finishing patrol with Ladybug when he spies a certain classmate meandering around Paris. The two get around to talking, and one thought begins to creep to the front of Adrien's mind...Marinette is strikingly familiar, and it's NOT because they're classmates.





	1. Out and About

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift for the marvelous kwiibi on Tumblr, who won a fic as a giveaway prize. It's been a while since I wrote a multi-part fic (because I was on a fic-writing hiatus), but I hope it's enjoyable anyway. It feels good to be back in the habit of writing!

Marinette was walking home, by herself, in the dark.

Chat Noir halted dead in his tracks. He and Ladybug had finished patrol already, but that didn't mean his duties as a protector of Paris were over for the night. No teenage girl should be walking the streets of Paris this late all by herself. He held his baton out over the edge of the roof he was standing on, and let it extend to the ground. What was she doing out this late at night in the first place? he wondered as he dropped down to the pavement. It was easily past one in the morning. He couldn't think of any reason for her to be walking around at this hour.

“Out for an evening stroll, Princess?” he called to her.

Marinette jumped with a hastily choked-off scream. When she turned and saw him, she let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, Chat Noir. It's just you.”

He swept a little bow. “The one and only. What are you doing out so late?” He tucked away his baton and came closer. “Paris isn't always safe this time of night.”

“I can—” She cut herself off. Her bottom lip pursed in as she bit it, like she was trying to think of an excuse. Was she going to lie to him? “It's a long story,” she said finally. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “I'm going home right now, though, so you don't have to worry.”

Chat frowned. Whether she was headed home or not, he was going to worry. It was late, she was a friend, and he didn't want to just leave her to walk home on her own. “All the same, I think it'd be best if I accompanied you,” he said. He hoped he didn't come off as creepy. “Just in case.”

Marinette sighed, sounding defeated. “Fine. Whatever makes you feel better.”

Chat offered her his arm, trying to be a gentleman, but she didn't take it. She just continued on her way, without looking to see if he followed. He hurried to catch up. Was she trying to avoid him? He'd thought she liked Chat Noir. More than she liked Adrien, anyway. She at least talked to Chat. When he was Adrien, he was lucky to get more than a sentence out of her.

“Do your parents know that you're out this late?” he asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. Things at home were so strict for him that he wasn't sure if this level of laxness was normal for other families or not.

She stiffened guiltily at his question. That was a no, then. “Not really,” she admitted in a tiny voice.

“You snuck out?” He had finally caught all the way up to her; he peered down at her to gauge her expression. Marinette was worrying at her lip with her teeth again, her eyes cast down at the sidewalk in front of her. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything's fine,” Marinette hastened to assure him. She seemed like she was being honest, he thought. She'd turned her head to meet his gaze head-on, without hesitation, and there was no waver or pause in her voice. “It's a long story, but it doesn't have to do with anything going on at home. Everything with my parents is fine. I only had to sneak because of the time.”

Chat looked upwards in thought, his lips quirking to one side. “So everything is fine at home, but you still snuck out this late at night? Even though it's dangerous to be on the streets alone so late?” Something about it seemed off to him. She ought to be at home, asleep, not betraying her parents' trust by roaming around Paris at one in the morning. “That doesn't quite add up, Princess.”

“I'd explain, but it's way too long a story to share this late at night,” Marinette replied, waving off his suspicion. She perked up suddenly. “There's the bakery. Thanks for walking me, Chat Noir. Good night.”

“Wait.” Chat touched her shoulder to stop her before she could run across the street to the bakery. “How are you going to get inside? If your parents don't know you're out, won't the door be locked?”

Marinette began to look at everything in the area except for Chat Noir. “I'd find a way in.”

He walked her across the street up to the bakery. “Where?”

If it were possible to melt into the ground just by staring at it intently enough, Marinette would have melted into it on the spot. “Window,” she mumbled. She pointed, and Chat followed the line of her finger up to the window she was indicating. It was up on the third floor. How she intended to get to it in the first place, he had no idea. Certainly climbing up the side of the building was out of the question.

“How were you going to get up there?” he asked.

The tips of her ears were beginning to go red. “I don't know,” she said in a voice that was almost inaudible.

Well. Chat took out his baton again, and propped it on one end close by the bakery. If she had no other way to get inside without disturbing her parents and getting in a boatload of trouble, he would help her. He wanted to trust she had a good reason for being out so late, a reason that negated her having probably earned a scolding. “In that case, I'll help Rapunzel to get back into her tower.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Rapunzel?” she echoed.

“Rapunzel's tower doesn't have stairs, right?” he reasoned. “If she left, she'd have to go back in through the window. Just like you, Princess.” He shot her a playful wink and held his arm out for her. “Come here and I'll hoist you up.”

She hesitated a moment, then stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms up around his shoulders. He put his arm around her waist, made sure his grip was secure, and let his baton extend upwards. As soon as they'd been lifted high enough that they were about level with the window, he stopped. “Think you can open it from here?”

Marinette stretched out one hand, keeping the other firmly around his shoulders. Her fingers fell just shy of the window. “Not quite.” She looked up. “You could just drop me off on the terrace. That would be easier.” A sheepish expression spread across her face, and she smacked her hand against her forehead. “I can't believe I didn't think of that in the first place.”

“It's late,” Chat pointed out. “You're probably exhausted.” He extended his baton further, up to the railing of the terrace. Through a careful series of maneuvers, he was able to help her over the rail so that she was deposited safely on the terrace. “Good night. Try not to stay out so late next time.”

“I'll do my best,” Marinette promised with a smile. He went to leave, and she rushed back to the railing. “Wait!”

Chat, halfway back down to the ground already, paused to look up at her in confusion. “What is it?”

“Wait here!” Marinette's head disappeared from over the railing. Chat did as he was told. What was she up to?

She reappeared at the railing a couple minutes later. “Come back up,” she requested.

Again, Chat did as he was told. He wondered if maybe he should send her to bed. There was school tomorrow morning, and given Marinette's habit of being late even on good days, her chances of making it to class on time tomorrow were dwindling very quickly. The thought was driven completely out of his mind when he saw what was in her hands.

“As a thank you for walking me home,” she explained, holding the napkin full of pastries out towards him. There was a croissant, two miniature muffins, a scone, and a little row of four pink macarons. It was enough to make Chat's mouth water. “They're from the day-old pile. Mama and Papa won't notice they're gone.”

He was tempted to take the whole thing—Marinette's parents were fantastic bakers, and actual filling food was hard to come by when his father forced him to live on a model's diet. His normal meals spelled catastrophe for someone who was constantly saving Paris. He managed to control himself, though, and took only one of the muffins. “This is plenty thanks,” he assured her.

Stubbornly, Marinette continued to offer the entire contents of the napkin. “Take it. I'm sure it takes up a lot of energy, saving Paris all the time like you do. Besides, if you don't eat them, they'll just get thrown away. Day-old stuff never gets put back on the shelves.”

“Well, when you put it like that … ” He allowed her to fold the napkin over the pastries and hand it to him. Part of him felt like jumping for joy. Real food! Chat grinned at her. “Thank you, Princess.”

She smiled back. “Those are my thank you to you. You're supposed to say 'you're welcome.'”

Was she teasing him? He'd thought Marinette seemed fond of him as Chat Noir, but the playful tone in her voice felt too familiar, too intimate for it to simply be fondness for a hero of the city. The notion that she might be flirting popped into his head; he pushed it away. Her behavior while he'd been walking her home had been too stilted for anything like that to be the case. Right? Chat inclined his head to her in the best bow he could manage while hanging sideways off his baton. “In that case, you're welcome.”

Marinette's smile broadened. There was something familiar about the way she smiled, just like there had been something familiar in her teasing, something that had nothing to do with them being classmates, though Chat Noir couldn't put his finger on what that something was. It was an endearing something, whatever it was. He was glad he could make her smile like that. “I guess I should let you go now,” she said.

“Probably,” he agreed. “Since w—you have school tomorrow morning.”

Her smile dropped, replaced by a mask of horror. “Oh, God, I completely forgot about school! What time is it?”

“Sometime past one, last I checked.”

Marinette made a noise that was half wail and half whimper. “I'm totally going to oversleep,” she fretted. “Miss Bustier is going to _kill_ me if I get another tardy.”

“Then go to bed now, so you can get as much sleep in as possible.” He made a shooing motion at her with his hand, careful not to drop the pastries she'd given him. “Good night.”

She was already halfway to the trapdoor that led down to her room. She called a frantic “good night” back to him in reply as she yanked the trapdoor open, and then she was gone. Chat adjusted his position on his baton and vaulted across the city to his own house.

“What kind of a thank you is that?” Plagg demanded when Adrien let his transformation wear off. He was looking at the napkin full of pastries in Adrien's hand. “There's no cheese!”

“She gave it to me, not you,” Adrien pointed out as he searched around his room for somewhere to hide the pastries. There was no way his father would allow him to keep them if he found out, and there were far too many for him to finish them all as a late night snack. Hiding them was his only option. Eventually, he just tucked them into his bookbag like he usually did with Plagg's cheese. He made a mental note to himself to get a plastic bag tomorrow to put them in. They'd stay fresh longer that way. He took one of the macarons and flopped into bed. Plagg was still going on about the injustice of not being rewarded with Camembert instead of pastries. Adrien tuned him out.

What was it about the way Marinette smiled that was so familiar? He munched on the macaron as he thought. Sure, he'd seen her smile every now and then while she was talking to Alya at school, but that wasn't what gave her smile its familiarity. It was something else, something that made him think of other nights in Paris, of street lights and darkness and his life as Chat Noir. He just couldn't figure out what that “it” was. The way she'd teased him had been familiar in the same way, called to mind the same things. Adrien was still drawing a blank, though, and as he finished off the macaron he decided he would give it more thought in the morning. Best not to stay up too late. Besides, it wasn't like it was all that important. He almost never interacted with Marinette outside of school.

The next night, when Chat Noir was almost all the way home, he caught sight of a very familiar pair of black ponytails going down a poorly-lit street below.

Chat smiled to himself and switched directions to catch up with the oh-so-sneaky princess.

 


	2. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chat Noir has an epiphany during game night with Marinette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat Noir is dense as a brick tbh.

“No! That's not fair! I should _not_ have died that time!”

Marinette looked over at Chat Noir with a smug smile. “All's fair in Ultimate Mecha Strike 3,” she said.

“Except for that,” Chat countered, barely managing to keep a straight face.

“You're just mad that I keep beating you.” She added another tally to her side of the scrap of paper they were using as a scoreboard of sorts. After Chat had found her walking the streets of Paris that second night, he had begun to keep more of an eye out for her, and it turned out that she snuck out of the house at odd hours of the night quite often. He had figured out the routes she would take, and had escorted her home more often than not since then. She'd complained at first, but now she didn't seem to mind too much. Then, one night, Chat had mentioned video games during their walk to the bakery, and Marinette had insisted that he come over sometime to play. This was their third game night, and Chat hoped that it might become a regular thing.

Well, as long as she didn't keep creaming him at Ultimate Mecha Strike 3, that is.

“I'm not mad that you keep beating me,” he replied. “I'm mad that you beat me that time by cheating.” He shot her a grin so she knew he was teasing. No matter how many times she beat him, he couldn't really get mad at her for it. It was a little frustrating, but she got too happy about winning for him to mind more than that.

Marinette returned the grin and set her controller aside. “So having better gaming skills is cheating?”

Chat leaned back on his haunches, dropping his controller next to hers. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“I wasn't aware that honing my talent at Ultimate Mecha Strike 3 would turn me into a cheater,” she quipped.

“A nasty revelation, isn't it?” he joked in reply.

Her grin broadened. “I think you're secretly jealous of my mad skills.”

He let out a scoffing sound, and waved her comment off. “Me, jealous? Never.”

“You're jealous,” Marinette said in a singsong voice. She gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. “Admit it.”

“I will admit no such thing.” He nudged her back before picking up his controller again. “One more round. I have to avenge myself.”

She took up her own controller and scrolled through the game's options to get to the PVP screen. “You mean you want to get smoked again? I didn't realize you were such a glutton for punishment.”

Chat settled into his usual playing position, his fingers tensed over the buttons in anticipation. She wasn't going to win so easily this time. “The only one who's going to get smoked here is you, Princess.”

“Dream on, kitty cat.”

There it was again, that bizarre familiarity. He _knew_ this feeling, knew this playful banter and this easy, friendly competition. But what was it? He never got the chance to do things like this with Marinette as Adrien. The one time they had played video games together with him out of the mask, it had been “training” for the tournament, and they had hardly spoken to one another until they had taken a break. This was nothing like that time. This was something entirely different.

So why did it feel so damned familiar?

He was so wrapped up in trying to figure out where the sense of familiarity came from that he didn't realize Marinette had started the game until he noticed his character had just been knocked out for the umpteenth time. “Hey, no fair! I wasn't ready!”

Marinette smiled devilishly. “So that's your new excuse, is it? You weren't ready?” She took the menu back to the PVP screen again. “One more round, then. And then we should probably call it quits for tonight. It's really late.”

He glanced up at the clock, and made a face. She was right; it _was_ really late. They were both going to hate their lives tomorrow morning in school, no doubts about it. “One more,” he agreed. “And I'm going to win this time.”

“You're awful cocky for someone who's been losing all night,” Marinette teased. “Let's see if you can live up to all your big talk.” She hit the button to start their last round of the night.

At first, Chat thought he was imagining things—he seemed to be doing much better this round than he had up till now. Then he risked stealing a glance at Marinette's health bar and realized he wasn't imagining things after all. He had barely lost a quarter of his health, but hers was more than halfway gone. He was going to win! “You should have quit while you were ahead, Princess,” he couldn't help saying. “It looks like this one's going to end in my favor.”

“Don't get ahead of yourself,” Marinette countered. Her focus was entirely on the screen in front of her, her tongue sticking out a little the way he had begun to notice it always did when she was concentrating. “I haven't lost quite yet.”

He braced himself for her comeback, but it never happened. For whatever reason, Marinette didn't seem able to bring about a turnaround this time. It didn't seem to be from lack of trying; she managed to give him a sound walloping so that his health bar was brought down to only a fourth left. But even with her throwing her all into the game, it was Chat Noir who emerged the winner.

“Yes!” He threw his arms up in victory. “Ladies and gentlemen, your champion of Paris, Chat Noir!”

Marinette laughed. “All right, you win that round,” she admitted easily. She marked a tally on his side of the scoreboard. “Happy now?”

Chat Noir glanced over at her; she was grinning, as if she didn't mind losing at all. And she had conceded defeat much more readily than he had expected. “Wait, did you … You didn't let me win, did you?”

Her grin broadened, and from this proximity he could see the little dimples in her cheeks. “You wanted to win, didn't you?” she asked in reply.

There! There it was _again_. That nagging familiarity was back, that feeling that he recognized this side of her even though he could have sworn that he had never encountered it before that first night he'd found her walking home. Some subconscious part of him, drawing connections his brain couldn't seem to make, whispered _Ladybug_. Chat started in surprise.

Was that why this was familiar?

Marinette's smile gave him the same feeling as Ladybug's did.

Was he starting to feel the same way about her as he did about Ladybug?

Hastily, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind, not wanting to confront it. No. There was no way. This side of her must just remind him of Ladybug, that was all. Why she reminded him of Ladybug, of course, was another question, but there was no sense in overthinking things. There was no way, in a million years, that he could ever feel the same way about another girl as he felt about Ladybug.

“Didn't you?” Marinette prompted, still grinning, and Chat realized she was still waiting for his answer to her question. Figuring out his muddled thoughts would have to wait.

“Only if it was fair and square,” he replied. “Which it wasn't, if you let me win.”

She waved it off. “A win is a win, kitty. Don't complain. I could've beaten you again if I really wanted to.”

“I know you could've.” He helped her to put the controllers away for the night, and to put the furniture back where it had been when he had arrived so that her parents wouldn't know about her late-night visitor. “But knowing you could've beaten me if you wanted doesn't make my win any more satisfying,” he added as they pushed her chaise lounge into place. “It actually almost makes it more degrading instead.”

“Well …” Marinette sat down on the lounge once it was back where it belonged. “Keep playing, and maybe someday you'll actually be able to beat me fair and square.”

Chat raised an eyebrow at her playfully. “Is that an invitation for another game night?”

She raised her eyebrow right back at him. “If you're up for getting creamed again.”

“I'll learn how to beat you for real one of these nights.” Without thinking, he took her hand and kissed it—the way he usually did with Ladybug. “Until next time, Princess.”

Marinette didn't respond right away. She was staring at him in what he could only presume was shock. It was then that he realized what he had just done. Oh, God, he was an idiot. Five seconds of thinking she reminded him of Ladybug, and he was already treating her like his lady. She was going to think—he wasn't sure what she was going to think, but he was sure it wouldn't be good.

“I'll, um … get going, then,” he said, and started for the trapdoor to the terrace.

“Chat Noir, wait!”

On any other night, when he hadn't just made a fool of himself and possibly ruined a growing friendship, he would have stopped. He would have turned around right then, and waited for as long as she wanted. But he _had_ made a fool of himself, and probably made Marinette second-guess her decision to befriend him, and so he hurried out and fled across the rooftops without another word.

“You could have at least asked for some food before you left,” Plagg griped when they arrived back at the Agreste mansion. “She lives in a bakery. They've got to have loads of cheese there.”

Adrien leaned back against the window. “I just made a total idiot of myself, and you're complaining about cheese?”

“It wasn't the smartest thing you've ever done,” Plagg agreed, “but you've done stupider things, too. It's not that big of a deal.”

“Thanks for the overwhelming support.” He closed his eyes and sank down to sit on the floor. “She reminded me of Ladybug for a minute. I didn't mean to _treat_ her like Ladybug, it just—”

“Slipped out?” Plagg finished for him. He snickered. “So much for Ladybug being the girl of your dreams, huh?”

“That's not it,” Adrien protested. “I just wasn't thinking. It's not like I _like_ Marinette, not like—not like that. The way she acted just … didn't it remind you of Ladybug? With the jokes, and the competitive attitude, and her smile, and—” He cut himself off, realizing just how strong the comparison to Ladybug really was.

When it became clear he wasn't going to finish his sentence, Plagg spoke. “You can say you don't like her all you want, but it sure sounds like it when you talk about her like that. She didn't seem that much like Ladybug to me.”

“But I like Ladybug,” Adrien argued. “I can't like Marinette too, that would just be—that would—it's—there's no reason for me to—”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself, Adrien.”

The next time he found Marinette wandering around at night, Chat Noir hesitated a little before going to her. What if she didn't want anything to do with him after his blunder the last time they'd seen each other?

Marinette slowed, until she was standing still just a few steps away from the bridge. She had just passed Notre Dame; the lights on the building reflected in her hair and gave the black a gilding of gold. “I know you're there, Chat Noir,” she said. “You might as well come down.”

From his place amidst the gargoyles and chimeras, Chat sighed. No sense in hiding if she already knew he was there. He extended his baton, and dropped one level at a time down to the square. Marinette watched him descend. She smiled a little when he landed next to her, a tiny, crooked, _I knew you were really there_ sort of smile. It was a very Ladybug kind of smile.

He liked that smile.

He liked that smile a lot.

Dear God, he realized, he liked Marinette.

 


	3. Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chat Noir's got a bit of explaining to do if he wants to stay friends with Marinette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally have a schedule set up for my multi-part fics like this one! Since I have five ongoing ones, it'll be about five weeks before the next part is posted (unfortunately) ... unless I can get more than one fic installment finished per week when I'm off from summer classes. I guess we'll see. Fair warning, though, y'all are in for the long haul on this one.

“Why didn't you just come down to begin with like you usually do?” Marinette asked.

Chat Noir folded and unfolded his hands in his lap nervously. What could he say that she would believe? His mind was blank. All he knew was that he didn't want to tell her the truth: he'd been too afraid to go to her, after having treated her like he always treated Ladybug. He didn't want her to know. Didn't want her to think she was somehow a substitute for Ladybug, or some sort of backup plan, or any number of equally unpleasant ways of playing second fiddle to his superhero partner. But “I don't know” wasn't an acceptable answer, either. She would be able to tell that was a lie in a heartbeat. So what on earth could he say?

Marinette leaned back against the bench. Rather than walk the rest of the short remainder of the way to the bakery, she had suggested they sit in the park behind Notre Dame. Chat hadn't really thought to argue. Now, behind the cathedral, her hair was spangled in pinpoints of soft gold from the little streetlight that filtered through the trees, and her eyes caught a dimly yellow glow that made them reminiscent of the eyes of a cat. “Chat?”

She needed an answer. He knew that. He couldn't keep her waiting here all night. They had school in the morning, they had to go to bed, he had to walk her home, he had to say _something_. Even if answering was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

Finally, as reluctant as he was, he decided to tell as much of the truth as he dared. “I thought you might not want to see me after … after what happened last time.”

There was a long silence, as if Marinette were mulling this over. Chat fidgeted in his seat. Then she glanced over at him. “Why wouldn't I?”

He gaped at her. He couldn't help it. Had she really dismissed it as nothing? After he'd fled the scene so hastily?

It was Marinette's turn to fidget now. “It's not like you did anything wrong,” she pointed out. “It was kind of sweet.” She offered him a shy grin that was just barely visible through the cloak of night. “And besides, it kind of matches with you calling me 'Princess.' Like a knight kissing a princess' hand.”

Chat Noir let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. An unintentional, shaky laugh slipped out a moment later. “You think so?”

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Well, that's a relief.” He stood and stretched his arms up over his head. “I was kind of afraid you might have thought it was creepy or something.”

That made her laugh. She got to her feet and moved to his side, and some dim corner of Chat's mind noticed that she was about the same height compared to him as Ladybug was. He ignored the comparison. He didn't need more reasons to start treating her like Ladybug. “There's a lot of words I could use to describe you, kitty,” she said, “but creepy isn't one of them.”

“Glad to hear it.” Chat hesitated for only a split second before wrapping an arm around her shoulders the way he had taken to doing when walking her home. She still trusted him. They were still friends. He hadn't ruined anything. He felt like he might explode with relief. “So, shall this knight escort the princess the rest of the way home?”

The quip earned him another giggle from Marinette. “I guess it wouldn't hurt,” she replied. She lifted his arm off her shoulders in favor of looping her arm through his. Like a princess. “Lead the way, o knight in shining … what is your suit made out of, anyway?”

 _Boyfriend material_. The joke came to the front of his mind so easily, he almost said it out loud before he could stop himself. But the concern that she might take it as more than a joke after his slip-up last night kept him from answering so flippantly. “Honestly? I'm not really sure myself,” he admitted as they started walking. “I never actually thought to find out.”

Marinette rubbed her thumb absentmindedly over the material where her hand cupped his upper arm. “It sure is durable, whatever it is. I wish I could find something this resilient at the fabric store. Then maybe I wouldn't have to worry about ripping a hole in my clothes every time I trip over my own two feet.”

“Well, if I ever do find out what it's made of, you'll be the first to know,” Chat promised with a grin.

She grinned back. “It's a deal.”

This wasn't so bad. After the punch-in-the-gut realization earlier that he might actually like Marinette as more than just a friend, he had been worried his ability to act like a normal human being around her might vanish. But it seemed like his worry had been a silly one. Their conversation now was no different than it had been any time before. It was cozy, friendly, intimate in the manner of two friends sharing a secret.

Maybe he didn't like Marinette that way after all?

But he'd been so _sure_ when he'd seen that look of hers …

“I'm kind of curious, though,” Marinette said, breaking him out of his puzzled musings. “If you were so worried I was going to think you were a creep for it, why did you kiss my hand in the first place? Or why not ask first?”

Oh, dear God. Chat Noir scrambled to think of an excuse. For the second time that night, he found himself wondering what on earth he could say that she would ever in a million years believe. Could he laugh it off? Pass it off as something he hadn't realized the potential consequences of until later (which wouldn't entirely be a lie)? Plead temporary insanity?

“Force of habit,” he said, and mentally kicked himself.

“Force of habit?” she echoed.

“It's … something I do sometimes with Ladybug,” he explained as they neared the bakery. He could do this. It wasn't lying, but she didn't have to know he'd done it because she reminded him so strongly of Ladybug. “Usually when we meet up or when we part ways after patrol. I guess my body just kind of went on autopilot.”

Marinette's brow furrowed, as if she were mulling something over, but all she said was “that makes sense, I guess.”

For the briefest sliver of an instant, he allowed himself to entertain the idea that she might be jealous it hadn't been a gesture reserved solely for her, but he quashed the thought before it could go anywhere. A shred of hope lingered, though, and he had to ask himself whether he wasn't just in denial about liking Marinette. Why did this have to be so confusing? “Ladybug doesn't seem to like it that much when I do it, though,” he said slowly, trying to gauge her reaction. “Or she just doesn't care.”

She tilted her head to one side thoughtfully, her eyes trained on him with a mix of curiosity and confusion. “What are you getting at?”

He took a deep breath as they came to a stop at the door of the bakery. This was it. This was the plunge. All he could do was hope it would end well, because there was no laughing this off anymore. “I just mean that if you … theoretically … didn't mind, I could make it a you-and-me thing instead of a me-and-Ladybug thing.”

Marinette stared at him, and there was an odd look in her eyes as she looked him over. Her hand had slipped from his arm in what he could only presume was surprise. “You'd stop doing it with Ladybug, you mean?”

Chat nodded. He didn't quite trust his mouth anymore after all the stupid things that had come out of it tonight.

“And do it more often with me?”

He nodded again. His pulse had begun to beat erratically, a wild drumming thrum at his throat and at his temples. He hoped his face hadn't gone red, because he didn't think he could take the additional embarrassment of his nervousness being displayed on his face for all the world to see. This had been a bad idea. He should never have opened his big mouth. Heck, he shouldn't have even come down off Notre Dame to see her. Apparently, he could no longer think with any semblance of foresight around her. And that, more than anything else, made him think his initial impression had been right, and that he really was starting to like her as more than just a friend.

Marinette was worrying at her bottom lip, looking conflicted. Was it really that hard for her to make up her mind? Why? Either she was all right with him kissing her hand or she wasn't … right?

“Shouldn't you talk to Ladybug about it if you think she doesn't like it?” she asked.

Chat wasn't sure what to make of that. “What do you mean?”

She gave a little huff of impatience. “You said it seems like she doesn't like it when you do it, right?”

“Right …”

“But did you ever actually _ask_ her how she felt about you doing it?”

He gaped at her. This was not the direction he had expected this conversation to take. “No …”

“You should talk it out with her, then.” Marinette folded her hands, and began twisting her fingers as if she was nervous about what she was saying. “I mean, you two are partners, right? That's a way more important relationship than someone you play the occasional video game with.” She wasn't meeting his eyes anymore. Instead, her gaze was cast down to the sidewalk at his feet. “And I wouldn't want you to do something with me that you used to do with her just because you assumed she didn't like it.”

“So that's a no, then,” Chat translated. Half of him was disappointed, but half of him was relieved, too. He wasn't sure what he would have done if she had accepted his proposition. This meant things could stay the way they had been. The two of them could stay friends, just the way they were, no more and no less.

Marinette's eyes remained fixed on the ground as if she thought it was the most interesting thing in the world. “Not quite,” she mumbled.

What?

“I wouldn't mind it,” she went on, still refusing to look him in the face, “but … it's just that I think if you're going to stop doing it with Ladybug, you should … talk to her about it. Tell her why you're not going to do it anymore. Because if you suddenly stop doing something you've always done before, she might think you're upset with her or something. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense,” Chat agreed, a little dazedly. _She's okay with me kissing her hand, she's okay with me kissing her hand, she's okay with me kissing her hand …_

“So then, you can do it, but first you have to promise me you'll tell Ladybug you're stopping,” Marinette said. She finally looked up at him, raising one hand. “Pinky swear.”

Grinning, he looped his pinky around hers. “Pinky swear,” he agreed. “I'll tell her first thing tomorrow night on our patrol.” He released her pinky and caught her hand in his to deposit a kiss there. “You have my word, Princess.” Dropping her hand, and feeling more than a little flustered about everything that had transpired tonight, he made a great show of surveying the locked door of the bakery. “I presume Rapunzel needs another ride up to the terrace tonight?”

Marinette laughed at the throwback quip to their first nightly meeting. “You'd be right about that,” she agreed. Without any prompting, she put her arms around his shoulders so he could lift her up.

Chat put his arm around her waist for extra security, and propped his baton against the sidewalk. “Hold on tight.” Up they went, Marinette clinging with all her might just as he'd told her (even though he had half said it in jest), and it was with some slight reluctance that Chat released her on the terrace.

“Thank you, Chat Noir,” Marinette said. She leaned over the railing to scratch behind one of his cat ears briefly, as if she couldn't help herself.

This was not good at all for his heart. Whether he liked her as more than a friend or not, he still wasn't sure, and this was just sending him into more confusion. He had to get out of here. “We're friends, right? Friends help each other out.”

Her smile softened, and _oh God_ it was cute. Chat nearly let go of his baton and only remembered to hold on at the last second. He'd never seen her smile like this before, not this soft affectionate way that shone like the sun had just come out in the dead of night. “Right,” she said.

He really needed to get out of here. There was no guaranteeing Marinette wouldn't do something that would stop his heart altogether if he stayed. Fighting to maintain his outward composure, he gave her a little half-bow. “I should let you get to sleep. It's late. Sweet dreams, Princess.”

She leaned over the railing again, arms folded to brace herself in place. “Sweet dreams, Chat Noir.”

There was a split instant's pause then that felt like it dragged on into eternity, and Marinette looked like she wanted to say something more, and Chat had never felt so strongly that he didn't want to go home just yet, and an unspoken something passed between them that he wasn't sure how to put a name to. Then Marinette ruffled his hair and backed away from the railing to let him leave, and the moment was over.

 


	4. I Promised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chat finally fulfills his promise to Marinette, but explaining his reasoning to Ladybug is going to be harder than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually secretly quite proud of how this chapter turned out, tbh.  
> Chat Noir is still dense as a brick.

“My lady, can I ask you something?” Chat Noir blurted at the end of patrol the next night.

He almost hadn't gotten up the nerve to ask. Sure, he knew that he had made a promise to Marinette to talk to Ladybug about the whole hand-kissing matter, but it was one thing to promise it and quite another to be in front of the girl who took his breath away and try to execute it. His heart had felt like it was going to explode out of his chest throughout their entire patrol. As a matter of fact, his asking at all could probably be more chalked up to sheer panic than to a deliberate choice on his part to fulfill the promise he had made.

Ladybug turned to face him, and for a moment, he almost thought she somehow knew what he was going to say. There was an odd look on her face, somewhere between pained and intrigued, as if she were bracing herself for something. The look vanished as soon as it had come. “You just did,” she teased with a slow smile. “But you can ask another question, I guess. If you want. What is it?”

What little of Chat's confidence had remained now vanished. He was going to sound like such an idiot. This was Ladybug, after all. She had done her very best to keep their relationship professional from the beginning and definitely did not care whose hand he went around kissing. He shifted his weight nervously and wondered if it was possible to melt into the roof they were standing on so that he could spare himself this embarrassment.

“I was just, um, wondering…” he mumbled, looking at anything but her—he might be able to get through this if he just didn't look at her—“if you would prefer I didn't kiss your hand anymore.”

She didn't answer right away. Chat risked peeking at her from the corner of his eyes, and saw that she was trying to school her features from…was that a grin?…to confusion. His heart sank. He hadn't thought she'd hated it that much.

“Where is this coming from?” she asked. Chat supposed he should be grateful she didn't sound as inordinately pleased as she looked. “You…you just change your mind about doing it, or…?”

“No,” he answered hurriedly. Then he wondered if it would have been easier to just say that yes, he had changed his mind. But he'd already answered, and he didn't really want to lie to his lady anyway. He would just have to live with the consequences, whatever they may be. “No,” he repeated softly. “That's not it at all.”

The last vestiges of Ladybug's smile faded from her lips. Now she looked concerned. She approached him slowly, almost like she expected him to break, and put a hand on his shoulder. “What's the matter, kitty?”

She looked so worried about him that he blurted, before he could stop himself, “I promised a friend I would ask.”

Ladybug withdrew slightly, a baffled expression making its way across her face. Her mouth opened, presumably to ask him what he meant, and he plowed on. Now that he had started, he couldn't keep himself from finishing. “I just, I made friends with this girl recently—just friends! The girl you asked me to protect from the Evillustrator. Marinette. She walks around sometimes at night and I take her home so she doesn't get bothered by creeps or something. And we started playing video games together a couple weeks ago—she doesn't know my identity, I just go over as Chat Noir, don't worry—and we get along really well, and the last time we played and I went to say goodbye I kissed her hand without thinking. Just out of habit, you know? Since I usually do that at the end of our patrols and everything and so of course then she asked about it the next time she saw me. And long story short I said I might stop kissing your hand and she said I should talk to you about it.”

When he had finished, he inhaled deeply (since he had been talking rather fast and had run out of breath about halfway through) and waited for her response. Ladybug, for a minute, seemed to be at a loss. She blinked a few times, looking confused, before shaking her head. A slight smile came back to her face.

“Why don't you tell me that again, kitty,” she suggested. “Only a lot slower this time. I want to make sure I understand what you're trying to say here.”

Chat relaxed, just a little. She wanted to talk about it. That was a good sign, right? Maybe making this promise to Marinette hadn't been such a horrible idea like he'd thought it was. “In that case, you might want to sit down. It's a bit of a long story.”

She plopped down on the edge of the roof immediately. “I'm all ears.”

He sat next to her, a bit slower. “So, um…you remember that girl Marinette you had me protect when the Evillustrator attacked?”

“Of course I remember.” Ladybug grinned. “I know her pretty well. How did you think her Ladyblog friend got that exclusive interview?”

“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. That made sense, but it was going to make this conversation much more awkward than he had anticipated. “Well, I…I noticed her walking around one night after we'd finished patrol. And it was really late, and she was all by herself, so I thought that I should…y' know…walk her home, make sure she got back safely. Because, well, you know how creeps kind of come out of the woodwork this time of night. And I, um, I kind of know her personally—not really well, but…I know her, so I didn't want to just leave her by herself.”

Ladybug propped her chin in her hand. Her grin had faded to a faint, fond smile. “So you walked her home?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Just, you know, to keep her safe and all that. It ended up being good that I did, because she was locked out of her house and I had to help her get up to her terrace to get in.”

She was still smiling faintly, and Chat began to get an odd feeling that he had seen that exact smile somewhere else. “Like Rapunzel or something?”

Chat gaped at her. How? How had she known the exact joke he had made to Marinette? Come to think of it, she didn't act like someone who hadn't known this whole story beforehand… “My lady, you…”

Panic flashed across her face, and he heard her whisper a very quiet “shoot” under her breath.

So she _did_ know this story already.

“Marinette told you about all this already, didn't she?” he asked.

Ladybug stared at him for a solid minute before a shaky smile made its way onto her face, and then she burst out laughing. God, how he loved to hear her laugh. He wasn't sure what he had said to trigger it, but he was glad he did.

“Yeah,” she giggled, clutching her sides, “you got me. I've known pretty much since the night it happened.”

He frowned. “You should have just told me that from the beginning. That saves me a lot of explaining.”

She waved it off. “It's fine,” she said. She was still giggling a little. “I only knew Marinette's version of the story, so it's nice to hear the other side of what happened.” She finally let go of her sides, and leaned forward. “Keep going. So you helped her up to her terrace, and…?”

“I saw her walking around again the night after,” he said. It was getting easier to talk about it now that he had gotten started. His heart at least wasn't pounding so hard he thought he was going to have a heart attack anymore. “So I took her home again. And then I kind of noticed over time that she was walking around at night a lot. I didn't want to pry and ask why, but I figured I could at least keep walking her home. She kind of complained a bit at first, but she never told me to go away or to leave her alone, so…”

“So you started doing it every night.”

“Well, not every night,” Chat hedged with an embarrassed smile. “Just the nights I saw her. I don't think she sneaks out every night.”

“Probably not,” Ladybug agreed. “So what does this have to do with you kissing my hand?”

“We talk on the way to her house,” he explained. “And we were talking one night, and I mentioned that I like to play video games, and she said we should have a game night sometime. That was about…two weeks ago, I think? I've gone over for game nights a couple times now. But, um, the last time I was there, I screwed up, sort of. I'm so used to kissing your hand when we say goodbye for the night that I…I kissed her hand.”

Ladybug didn't say anything to that. She didn't even tease.

Chat hoped that wasn't a bad sign.

“So, um…” he continued nervously, “I saw her again after that, and we talked about it and I…kind of sort of offered to start kissing her hand instead of yours. So I…um…wouldn't be kissing your hand anymore.”

Ladybug stayed quiet for a long time, so long that Chat began to wonder if she planned to respond at all. Maybe he'd been right after all, and she really didn't care.

Heck, who was he kidding? She definitely didn't care. She had always pushed him away after he kissed her hand, always a finger to his nose and an amused grin that said _you're such a flirt_ even though he never flirted with anyone other than her.

“Why?” Ladybug asked, and her voice was so quiet that he almost didn't hear her ask.

He stared at her. “What?”

“Why?” she repeated, a little louder this time. She looked at him with an expression he wasn't sure how to decipher. “Why did you offer to kiss her hand from now on?”

Chat paused, unsure how to explain when he didn't even fully know the reason himself. “I…well…that's…”

He was still fumbling for something to say when she said, “It's okay if you say that you like her, you know.”

That broke him out of his spell of stupefaction. “Like her? N-no, I don't—she's—I think of her as a friend! I'd never…”

The look she gave him made his protests die in his throat. It was a half amused, half wistful expression that was painful to see. “Then why do you kiss my hand?”

Oh, God. He couldn't do this. This was too much. He had _not_ planned on a love confession tonight. He was nowhere near ready for that. Talking about kissing Marinette's hand was already hard enough, without adding his love for Ladybug into the mix. He would have fled right then, if it hadn't been for his promise to Marinette that he would tell Ladybug about what was going on. “That's… because I…”

“It's not any different, is it?” she pressed softly.

“It is, though,” Chat protested. “You're…you're my…partner.” The word tasted bitter in his mouth. _She's so, so much more than that._ “And Marinette, she's my…” He trailed off. What _was_ Marinette to him?

Ladybug leaned closer, obviously curious. “She's your…?”

Everything in him wanted to say what he had been insisting this whole time, that she was just a friend, just someone he happened to walk home every now and then, but the word didn't seem quite right. Not when he'd been muddling so much lately over his feelings for her. But then what was she? Only one word came to mind. It wouldn't help his situation at all—actually, it would probably make it worse—but it was the only word that fit. He closed his eyes and braced himself for whatever reaction would follow.

“She's my princess.”

 


	5. Choosing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choosing between Ladybug and Marinette may be the hardest decision Chat Noir has ever had to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So technically I should have waited until next week to update this fic, but the story was coming to me so easily that I just went for it. My other fics can just wait their turn. (Aka other fics will be updated now that I have posted this part that I really wanted to post.)  
> I'm tormenting poor Chat Noir here and tbh I'm not sorry at all. The oblivious kitten needs it.

“Your princess?” Ladybug repeated. Her smile had dropped from her face entirely, replaced by shock.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Chat Noir fumbled to save himself from the giant pit he had dug himself into. “Yeah, you know, like…it's kind of like I'm a knight in shining armor, right?” He flexed his arms, pasting what he hoped was a convincingly playful grin on his face. “Protecting the princess from evildoers at night. So I…kind of call her Princess. I mean, I did before, too,” he added. “When she helped with the Evillustrator. It fit at the time, and it still sort of fits, so it stuck.”

She laughed, but it wasn't the whole-hearted kind of laugh that she had earlier. It was quieter, weaker. Almost hurt. “Half the girls in Paris would be dying of envy if they knew you called someone Princess.”

He seized the opportunity. “Would you happen to be part of that half, my lady?” He wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. He could do this. They were back on familiar territory, playful banter they had made a million times before. All he had to do was steer the conversation back away from Marinette. He could do this.

His question earned him a slightly more genuine laugh. “In your dreams, kitty.” She shot him an amused smile. “Besides, I already have a special name from you. As if I would trade that to share a nickname with someone else.”

Good _God_.

This was not fair.

She should not be allowed to be this cute. It was going to be the death of him. How in the name of everything good and holy was he supposed to brush the whole calling-Marinette-his-princess thing off when just her _smile_ was turning his brain into mush? Combine that with her comment, and he was going to die from lack of executive function. He nudged her shoulder with his, so lightly that he wondered if she even noticed. “I guess I can keep calling you my lady, in that case. Or do you prefer Bugaboo?”

She nudged him back, a little harder. “Three guesses. And the first two don't count.”

“Bugaboo it is, then,” he quipped.

“Chat!” she protested. She was laughing again, though. Her elbow dug into his ribs. “What should I call you, then? Cat-anova?”

“Was that a cat pun?” He grinned at her, delighted. “I think I'm in love with you even more now.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “It's your fault. My brain comes up with these idiotic puns now, and I know that all the blame lies with my stupid kitty cat.”

“You're welcome,” he said, somehow managing a deadpan delivery even though he wanted so badly to laugh at the mock-frustrated face she was making.

Ladybug groaned, but he could tell it was more affectionate than exasperated. She flopped back to lie flat on the roof. “Sometimes, kitty, I just don't know what to do with you.”

He twisted to catch her eye, and the fond way she was looking at him made his toes curl in his boots. “You've done pretty well so far just improvising.”

She snorted. “Because one spontaneous person in this partnership isn't enough.”

Chat untwisted himself and turned to face her, crossing his legs in front of him. “It keeps things interesting, doesn't it?”

“You're not wrong about that,” she agreed. She propped herself up on her elbows. “So, is this…the kind of stuff you talk about with Marinette, too?”

He blinked in confusion. What? He tried to speak, but all that came out was a baffled “huh?”

“You know.” She made a vague gesture with one hand. “Just…fooling around like this. Being yourself, instead of hamming it up like you do for an audience.”

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I am _always_ being myself when I have an audience.”

She snorted again, obviously trying not to laugh. “You know what I mean.”

He did know. But he didn't want to talk about Marinette anymore. It was only serving to embarrass him in front of his lady. He wanted to change the topic, dammit. Why did she have to steer the conversation back to Marinette? “We just kind of…talk.” He leaned back on his hands. “We do joke around. When we play video games and stuff. It's not the same as you and me fooling around, but…”

“But?” Ladybug echoed.

If Chat could have melted right then and there into the roof they sat on, he would have. As things were, he wanted to kick himself a million times for ever offering to kiss Marinette's hand instead of Ladybug's and bringing this whole mess down on himself. “It feels the same, sometimes,” he admitted reluctantly. “The way she and I joke around, I mean. So, um…as far as your question goes…sort of? I try to be myself with her. But the way I act with her is never going to be identical to the way I act with you.”

Her smile tilted to one side, amused and devious and horribly, unfairly attractive. “Because she's your princess?”

Why, oh why had he told her about that nickname? “That's not it,” he blurted in a last-ditch attempt to save face. “That has nothing to do with it at all.” Her smile was only spreading, and he got the sinking feeling she didn't believe a word he was saying. He plowed on anyway. “It's just a nickname. It doesn't make a difference. Things would be the same if I called her something else. It's just that Princess happened to fit.”

Ladybug rolled onto her side and propped her chin in her hand. “You called her _your_ princess.”

Yes, Chat decided, this was definitely the stupidest pickle he had ever gotten himself into, bar none. “Only because I'm the only one who calls her that.”

The smile dropped from Ladybug's face entirely again. He wondered what on earth he had said wrong now to make her look so disappointed.

Oh, God.

She didn't want him to _date_ Marinette, did she?

“So back to the hand-kissing thing,” Ladybug said slowly, jolting Chat Noir back to attention, “why do you want to start kissing her hand instead of mine? Why make the offer?”

“Well…” He paused. Obviously, she was going to keep pressing this question until he gave her an actual answer, so he might as well do his best to gather his thoughts and explain himself. “I guess…part of it is because I know you kind of get sick of it sometimes. Pushing me away by the nose and all that.” She looked like she wanted to say something to that, but he plowed on, knowing that if he stopped he would never finish. “Marinette, she, um…she said she didn't mind. She actually said she thought it fit pretty well with me calling her Princess. You know, kind of like the knight in shining armor thing I mentioned earlier. A knight kissing his princess' hand and all that.” He somehow managed to paste a crooked smile on his face. “That's all there is to it.”

Ladybug was quiet for a moment, worrying at her bottom lip as if she wasn't sure what to say. Her gaze had dropped down to the roof while he'd been talking; now it flicked back up to his face. She looked even more confused and hurt than she had earlier. Chat's heart gave a tiny twinge of guilt. This whole thing was just turning into more and more of a mess the longer they talked. “I never meant for it to seem like I didn't like it,” she murmured.

Wait.

_What?_

“It's cute,” she went on, half tripping over her words. “The hand-kissing. It's just…you know, we need to stay focused when there's an akuma, and that was when you first started doing it, was when there were akumas around to fight. So then I just started pushing you away like that to keep us—you!—focused. And then you started doing it on patrols, and…well…I just meant to push you away to tease. I—I figured, you know, that was—that was our…our rhythm, our dynamic, so…” Her eyes had started darting every which way, as if she couldn't bring herself to look him in the face anymore. He could have sworn her face was pink, but in the dim light of nighttime, he didn't want to get his own hopes up. “It was never meant to actually push you away or anything. Just in good fun. And I'm really sorry if it came across as me wanting you to stop.”

Chat thought he might explode from a combination of relief and delight. She didn't mind! _She thought it was cute!_ Him kissing her hand— _cute!_

Then he realized what that probably meant for Marinette.

“So, then, um…” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “About Marinette…what should I tell her?”

She looked a little surprised at that. “Don't you want to kiss her hand?”

“I wouldn't have offered to do it if I didn't,” he pointed out. And immediately backtracked. “I mean, just—she's a friend, you know? Like you are. She's not the same as you—obviously she's not the same as you—but I mean, it's…like you said, right? That it's in good fun.”

“I meant,” Ladybug said, enunciating every word carefully, “do you want to kiss her hand instead of mine?”

“If you would prefer things that way, my lady,” Chat answered.

She waved the statement off. “Forget what I want or don't want for a minute. Do _you_ want to kiss her hand? If you had to pick one of us.”

“'If'?” he echoed.

Ladybug fidgeted, as if she was embarrassed. “There's no rule saying you can only do it with one of us and not both,” she reasoned. “If it's just in good fun and doesn't mean anything, then…”

He stared at her. He was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open like an idiot, but he couldn't really bring himself to care at the moment. “You mean…?”

“You don't have to stop kissing my hand if you don't want to,” Ladybug confirmed, “and you can kiss Marinette's if you want to. I don't have a problem with either.” She waited for a minute for him to respond, but when it became clear that he was too far in shock to do more than gape, she fidgeted again and did her best to look _very_ busy watching the cars go by below. “If you don't want to have to pick, that is,” she mumbled.

Chat still couldn't manage to say anything coherent.

She waited for another minute, patiently, before saying anything else. “You…don't have to decide tonight. I can wait. We should call it a night anyway.” She stood and then helped him up. For once, she didn't pull her hand away the minute he was on his feet. And then he realized why.

She was waiting to see what he would do.

Because if it really didn't mean anything, it wouldn't matter if he kissed both their hands, right?

But oh God, it definitely did mean something.

And she knew it.

He could tell she knew it. Her expression was half wistful, half bitter, her lips curled up on one side in a wry attempt at a smile, as she stood there with her hand clasped in his and waited for him to do something. Whatever she had said about giving him more time to decide, she was clearly expecting something from him tonight.

For once, Chat couldn't quite bring himself to kiss her hand.

He laced their fingers together, squeezing her hand in his for a brief moment before letting go. “Good night, my lady.”

Her lips tugged up a little at the corners, but her eyes were full of something he could only call resignation. “Good night, Chat Noir.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the people who have been commenting on this fic! It means a lot, and although I don't necessarily reply to every single comment, I do read and appreciate every last one! This fic is probably going to be much longer than originally planned (since it was originally going to be like maybe 7-8 parts), but I hope that you will continue to support me!
> 
> EDIT: Since a lot of people commenting on this chapter seem VERY confused about where Mari is coming from here, I'll be writing a short, separate fic of this conversation from her POV. I don't want to put it in Peculiar Familiarity, since the dialogue would be identical and I want to keep PF from Chat's POV only, but I might stick the two in a series together for easy access for people. No promises that it'll be posted soon, since I have other fics to update and college crap to deal with, but it'll be up before this fic is finished for sure.


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